If the Shoe Fits
by emethereality
Summary: Somebody gave me "Shoe" as a prompt. Out came this fluffy story. There were many things Gil Grissom didn't foresee when he finally yielded his heart and soul to Sara Sidle.


There were many things Gil Grissom didn't foresee when he finally yielded his heart and soul to Sara Sidle.

Because they had known each other for years and had always been in some sort of relationship, he thought he knew her very well. He wouldn't say that he had her completely figured out, but having worked with her for so long, it surprised him to realize he hadn't known her in the truest sense of the word. It was fair to say, he wasn't prepared for the multitude of different layers she possessed. Surprises came frequently in their day to day existence.

For one, he hadn't expected the domestic goddess that emerged behind closed doors. In all his fantasies of imagined co-habitation with her, the image of his beloved with an apron and a spatula gripped in her hand had never entered his mind. But that was exactly what greeted him every time she had a day off. If it wasn't that, it was the oddly erotic image of her scrubbing the floor on all fours with her pert ass wiggling as she scrubbed.

It wasn't the fact that she cooked and cleaned that shocked him as much as the knowledge that she truly enjoyed performing such mundane tasks. She admitted to him once finding intense gratification in cleaning the refrigerator or the stove or even dusting the tops of the cabinets.

Grissom was no psychologist, but he reasoned she probably enjoyed the normalcy of keeping a household having never had that luxury in her childhood.

But of all the things that had surprised him- including an insatiable hunger in the bedroom- the one thing that had astounded him the most, were her shoes.

It wasn't the number of shoes she owned, last he counted she had little more than a dozen pair. It wasn't the amount of money splurged on them; no Manolo Blahnik's graced their closet, he knew for a fact that none of the shoes had been particularly expensive.

His preoccupation with her shoes stemmed from her state of mind when she wore a certain pair. He didn't have much experience living with women - she was his first, other than his mother -but whatever shoes Sara wore at any given moment were always perfectly reflective of her mood or state of mind.

For years, Grissom had only seen Sara in work boots or the occasional black flats if summoned to court or if the team met after shift. Those were her formal and casual footwear, professional and neutral. But at home, away from prying eyes, in the privacy of her wardrobe, stood a pair of shoes for almost every mood that would strike. His mind catalogued them:

The Birkenstocks: The young Sara Sidle had worn them the first time they'd met. They were more than just a fashion statement brought on by the craze of the 1990's, they were reflective of who she was at the time: simple, down to earth, and comfortable in her own skin.

A pair of Red Converse High-top Tennis Shoes: Sara still had those, too. When he'd been in San Francisco, after they'd just met, they had gone out several times and Sara had worn those red tennis shoes. At the time, he'd found it endearing, not realizing they spoke of her passionate and lively soul.

The black flats, the work boots, the Birkenstocks, the tennis shoes, that made 4 pairs so far. He smiled when he envisioned her little flip-flops with a bright yellow flower that graced the Y. She had worn those when they went out together to shop for their new condo. Sara was playful and happy when she wore those.

'Oh, God,' he thought as he suddenly remembered two items in the closet that made him instantly hard: the kitten heels she had worn on their official first date and the 'fuck me boots' she'd worn on their third date which had ended with the two of them performing exactly what the boots had implied.

She had been so sexy in the little kitten heels and in the blue dress. The old song, 'Devil with the Blue Dress On' by Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels, flitted through his brain now as he remembered their first date. There had been no awkwardness; it had been perfect as had their first kiss when he dropped her off at her apartment. The shoes spoke of a demure girl, who wasn't aware of her own allure and charm. Yet there was a quiet confidence in the way she had initiated their first embrace before whispering a husky 'goodnight.'

The night she'd worn the patent leather black boots, along with the skimpy mini-shirt had been memorable in many ways and her mood that night had been of a sexual predator. Which had inspired the same in him.

Grissom shook his head to clear the images which had over-taken him. Not that those thoughts were bad per se, but he needed to get back to the subject at hand: her shoes.

There were the hippy-styled purple flowered ones that she easily slid into when she was relaxing around the house or perhaps gardening in their limited back yard. Those encapsulated her free and easy spirit which was so distant from the controlled work persona.

The brown loafers Sara wore when she ran errands for them: going to the cleaners, shopping for groceries, taking Hank for a walk in the early morning light. Her mood was sober, full of purpose when she wore the loafers.

Gil counted them again. 'Hmmm, that's 9 pair now. Which have I forgotten?'

The fun and flirty flip-flops that were graced with frills that made Sara seemed a happy-go-lucky teenager.

The torn and worn white canvas Keds, she wore when something was really bothering her and she didn't want to be disturbed.

The ugly clogs that were a grey and green plaid. When she wore those, he knew she was spoiling for a good fight with anyone, and wouldn't take any prisoners. Thankfully, he thought to himself, she very rarely wore those.

No, these days in fact, Sara hardly wore any of the above described shoes. She went barefoot whenever she could.

He didn't think it was coincidental that this particular habit of going shoeless when the opportunity presented itself came during a time in her life when she seemed at her happiest. She'd never been as carefree as when she planted her bare feet in their yard, taking deliberate slow steps and letting the dirt and grass gather between her toes as if in communion with nature.

Obviously, he also knew that walking around barefooted was the only comfortable way to go since her feet had swollen to a size that had shocked them both.

'She doesn't seem to mind too much though,' he thought with a smile, as he caught a glimpse of her through the window sitting cross legged by the sand box they'd just built. She let the white sand run through her fingers while the other hand rested on her protruding belly.

He held the tears at bay when his gaze came back to the shoe closet and landed on the last pair she'd purchased. Tiny and pink they fit in the palm of his hands.

Even though he hadn't met their owner yet, he knew just by looking at the small shoes that it was pure joy and happiness that he could feel emanating from them.


End file.
